


Insides

by Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr/pseuds/Thatoneguyyoudidntknowfromtumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're not supposed to see your own insides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insides

Mar 21, 2008

**

You're not supposed to see your own insides.

That's why they're called 'insides'. Because they're in-side. Inside your armor. Vital systems needed, each exactly in its own place, inside. Where you can't see them. Not on a medical table, or worse, on the semi-flat piece of metal that is currently serving as a medical table because every single _flat_ surface in the Medical Center is currently being used for someone else.

Whose insides are also not. Inside.

He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to be gone so Ratchet, who was currently looking exhausted, agitated and frankly pissed off, could move on to more important mechs. Mechs who were dying. Sure, he supposed he was dying, but it wasn't the same thing. He didn't matter. It didn't matter. Not when you can look to the side, just a gentle order to the cables in your neck to pull in just the right way, causing your head to roll in the right direction, and see the one who did matter, your other half, laying there, motionless.

Dying.

With their insides not so inside anymore.

He supposed, as he mentally ordered his neck to return his head to it's original position so as not to attract attention by the fact that he was staring at his fellow black and white, that he should be worried. He should be panicking, writhing in pain, pleading with Ratchet to save his life.

But it didn't matter. His life never had. Everything that mattered was over there, inside out, shimmering lifeforce slowly dwindling in a corner of his mind.

The more Ratchet swore, the worse the situation was. And by Primus, right now, he was swearing up a storm. The medic shot a glance, and a curse, at the other black and white, ordering his motionless form to hang on, fraggit, until he got there. Mechs needed him. In a quieter tone, one growled almost under his breath, Ratchet told the prone, unresponsive form, that he needed him to hang on because he didn't know if the one he was working on currently would survive without him.

He was awake. Ratchet knew he was awake because every now and again he would glance at him, shake his head, then get back to work. His optics were most likely glowing dimly, as he stared up at the medic, past him, to the ceiling, doing his best to keep the tiny flicker of life he could feel in the back of his mind alive.

Because he needed him. There could be no order without chaos.

That Prowl felt, in his spark, right next to where Ratchet was pulling a piece of shrapnel out of his intakes.


End file.
